


There Exists...

by Lilmizzhugable13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent John Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Has Internalized Homophobia, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Growth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Lots of brooding, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Poor Castiel (Supernatural), Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Slow Burn, Soulless Sam Winchester, Will Add as I go, major character death is not Dean or Castiel, on brand, or as slow as it can get in 11 chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilmizzhugable13/pseuds/Lilmizzhugable13
Summary: Castiel watches him try for a year before things go sideways for Dean. He should’ve seen it coming, but even after years of fighting alongside Dean, Castiel still has no idea what answering Dean’s prayer entails. Long car rides, silent aggressions, and complicity; if he’s honest to himself, Castiel isn’t sure he’s the right person to help Dean, especially with a war on his shoulders and a guilt-complex on Dean’s.Or: the one where Dean reaches out to Cas after season 5 and Cas listens. Or: the season 6 we should’ve gotten without Cas being a dick of a god and Dean being just a dick (not that much at least)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. ...a prayer

**Author's Note:**

> This is officially my first contribution to Destiel, and because I refuse to acknowledge season 15 happened, I've decided to act out and retcon all the seasons after the "true ending."
> 
> I promise it's better than how it sounds in the summary. I'm uploading the first three chapters today because literally nothing happens in the first two besides setting up the story, so I figured y'all should get a taste of the angst before the fourth chapter (where something may or may not happen). Ima try to upload weekly but real life always tries to kick my ass so who knows.
> 
> Leave any feedback and if you think I need to add any more tags, lemme know! Enjoy the canon Destiel we should've gotten!

Castiel watches him try for a year, and he should have heeded the year as a warning.

Honor, impulse, and intelligence all wrapped together with a beautiful ribbon of stupidity. Dean’s smart, the smartest human Castiel’s ever come across, but he’s reckless and brash. But he makes up for it through his strength and tenacity. Tenacity did turn to stubbornness, though, and Castiel knows firsthand what it means when his mindset does not match Dean’s. He’s certain blood still marks that alleyway. But more often than not, the tenacity became loyalty.

He sees it in the way Dean loves Lisa. Castiel himself has never experienced love nor any emotion that could ever come close to it. Lust? Infatuation? Obsession? Nothing had ever tainted Castiel’s being. Still, he can see the lack of passion in Dean’s relationship.

Oh yes, they copulate. Numerous times. And yes, there’s moments of fleeting tenderness that had Castiel smiling, but there’s something incredibly disappointing about their relationship. It is all so… mundane. And coming from Castiel, it shouldn’t mean anything. He personally witnessed some of the greatest miracles, some that are completely beyond human comprehension.

But he’s also partial to the simpler things. He likes following bees for hours before finally reaching the hive. He liked watching dust settle on a dirt road where a car’s just drove. Even now, his favorite pastime is watching Dean rake leaves. Castiel likes mundane.

Except Dean doesn’t do mundane. He either builds up monuments or burns them down; there is nothing else because Dean has so much passion to give. Castiel has seen it in the way he fights: the sweat making his clothes stick to his body, blood painting his skin, callouses on his feet and hands only getting rougher – all are results of Dean Winchester’s never-ending spite. Even when he cried, even when he gave up, even when he prayed to Zachariah and almost said yes, Dean never lost the spark in his eye. Dean liked the challenge, liked being challenged, and after stopping the apocalypse at the cost of his brother, Castiel likes to think Dean deserves so much more than mundane.

But that all ties back to loyalty. Sam asked Dean to return to Lisa. Lisa kept salt lines and holy water. Ben looks up to Dean as the father figure he always wanted. Dean had an obligation to return, and while it frustrates Castiel to no end, Dean looks happy. And that’s enough for Castiel.

At least until it all goes sideways, but that’s no surprise. After all, nothing is easy when it comes to the Winchesters.

He leaves when their first argument happens. It’s something that had been building for a few weeks through small actions: a disagreement here, a passive-aggressive action there. It’s the very first Winchester-behavior observed after five months of neighborhood barbecues, PTA meetings, and Sunday masses. As strange as it is, it sends a warm feeling through his vessel and it almost makes him appear. A stupid belief that maybe, if Dean could reappear, then Castiel could too – the version that had some guidance and rationality. But he remained as he was because he has no intentions of interfering with a marriage spout. He might still have issues with personal boundaries, but even he could recognize there was something fairly intimate about arguing, and what occurs afterwards is definitely not something Castiel should eavesdrop on.

What was the term Dean taught him? Oh right, make-up sex.

Three fights later, Castiel learns the signs, and he’s able to leave before the argument turns into a screaming match. The only problem is the time between fights steadily decreases, and the time apart is too much. It has him thinking. Has him listening to Angel Radio. Has him picturing the wars he’s avoiding. Has him considering Crowley’s offer.

It’s a miracle when a prayer comes to existence.

_Uhh… I pray to thee Castiel? Is that how it went? I mean, I really don’t remember jackshit ‘bout this, but if you can hear this… shit, I dunno. Fuck, I just-_

“Hello, Dean.”


	2. ...cycles

He isn’t sure what he expected would happen once he sees Dean again. He had vague ideas – going out for a burger with Lisa and Ben where they would tell stories about their hunts, take a drive with Dean’s music enveloping them, maybe finding that lake and spending a day there. Something very human that would humor Castiel to no end.

He doesn’t expect to be stuck in these cycles.

The first cycle: car rides are something Castiel, in all his years of residing in the human world, never learned to appreciate. There is something so offensive about expecting an Angel – a celestial being that can bend the fabric of space and time to its will – to sit in a human contraption that can only travel a fraction of the efficiency he could.

He wonders if he should tell Dean this, if it is even worth the effort in trying to explain just how much Castiel hates the concept of sitting in a piece of metal forged into a laughable attempt of transportation on a pathway that is only created though the destruction of perhaps the purest matter humans will ever comprehend. The argument pops into his mind within the first hour of revealing himself to Dean, but it gets carried away with the first guitar chords of Hotel California. They stew in the song for its entirety, both focusing on the constant highlights on the road. White lines, orange reflectors, green signs; it all begins to hurt his eyes, which gets him worried about his grace. So he closes his eyes, centering on the patterns of his grace and making sure there is nothing abnormal with his vessel. His eyes reopen when the vibrations from the road are too distracting, so he looks over at Dean and wonders whether he should ask him to drive slower. But then another song starts, and Castiel knows he’s lost his chance.

Their breaks last anytime between five and fifteen minutes. Stopping at a diner means fifteen: Dean will get out, order something for the two of them, and come back in. It means eating on the road, and although Castiel still can’t taste anything, he eats. Stopping at a gas station means two different things, and it all depends on how Dean parks: an abrupt pull into an empty station means no more than five where Dean will pump as much gas as he can before someone else pulls up. A careful pull between two cars mean Castiel can get out, stretch his legs, maybe even walk to the restroom and pretend to use it for a few moments alone. He doesn’t like breaks, but he favors them over the motel cycle.

Motels take up the rest of their time, a four-hour cycle where he sits at a motel table watching Dean’s chest rise ( _Perhaps starting the conversation is what he needs. He’s never been one to discuss his problems, but perhaps he’s waiting for me to give him the opportunity. Perhaps an issue as mundane as disliking car rides will be enough for Dean to reveal the issues he is having with Lisa_ ) and fall ( _But it is more likely he will only tell me to leave if sitting in a car bothers me so much_ ).

And unfortunately, it’s how they go on.


	3. ...a scent

As much as Castiel would like to complain, the first month is not terrible. Sure, it’s incredibly mundane especially when the only ways the hours passed were three cycles and hunts. And they hunted. A lot. Maybe a new hunt every 14 hours.

Castiel blamed it on the monsters, at first. After all, the last they heard was one Winchester is in the cage and the other is retired and living an apple pie life. The Winchesters were out, and every other hunter was just a rock in their shoe that sometimes got lucky. It wasn’t until Castiel saw Dean receive a text from a fellow named Garth with a sighting that he realized there wasn’t a sudden influx of the supernatural.

He tries not to take it personally. Castiel did have an issue with being either self-obsessed or a martyr, no in-between, and ever since Dean prayed to him, he’s found no balance between the two. On hunts, Castiel throws himself in front of every attack he can. Any other time, he fidgets.

He’s never done that before, and on His Father’s existence is it the most annoying thing he’s ever experienced. His leg won’t stop bouncing or his fingers won’t stop tapping or his tongue won’t stop wiggling. Sometimes he even shakes, and it has nothing to do with his vessel’s body temperature. He just shakes because he has nothing else to do and he wants something to do, preferably something that will have Dean look at him for some reason other than to give an order but Castiel has never been picky.

But he’s given nothing. And he says nothing because he knows the only other option is to leave, and unlike before, there is no reason to come back. Dean is useless to the angels now. Castiel shouldn’t even be with him right now, not with the angels scrambling for a new leader and Raphael threatening a new war, but he can’t go back, not when his brothers and sisters are looking at him to be that next leader and Crowley keeping his hand extended.

He wishes he can tell Dean this, but he knows Dean will tell him to leave. Castiel has a responsibility that he cannot ignore. Dean could have forgotten his father and abandoned Sam and allowed Lucifer to reign, but he didn’t. Dean will tell him to leave. And leaving was permanent.

So Castiel stays quiet, does what he’s asked, and before he knows it, they’ve pulled into a small diner in Oklahoma. There’s a poster in the window that claims their chicken pot pie to be the best in the county, and if Castiel didn’t know any better, he would consider it braggadocios and would choose anything but the chicken pot pie. But he does know better, and he knows before they even parked that he would order the chicken pot pie and break down the composition of molecules to see if it really is the best combination in the county.

“You wanna get something here?”

It’s the first time Dean’s asked him something rather than ordered. And what does Castiel say?

“It is of no importance to me.”

Which is an absolute lie, but being with the Winchesters for so long has taught him that lying is always the best option when Dean asks something. He used to tell Dean the truth, but that got him a knife in his chest. Then it became telling Dean what he wanted to hear, but that never worked because Castiel never knew what Dean wanted. After a year apart, Castiel isn’t so sure what to do anymore. It makes him resort to his soldier mindset where everything is a threat, everyone is an enemy, and the safest solution is found through lying.

The issue is, he realizes when Dean scowls at him and slams Baby’s door as soon as Castiel replies, Dean isn’t an enemy. Even when Dean was refusing his destiny and threatening the very sanctity of Heaven, Dean was never an enemy to Castiel. And when Castiel was a good little soldier that complied with all of Zachariah’s schemes, Dean never considered Castiel an enemy. Which is why when Castiel finally makes his way from Baby to the corner booth Dean chose to sit in, he does so with a limb between his legs.

_Is that the proper phrase?_

He doesn’t ask Dean. He doesn’t even speak because he’s been watching Dean for an entire year, and he knows the signs of resonating anger within the Winchester. Clenched jaw, twitching fingers, heavy breathing. Yes, Dean is seething, and Castiel is shameful because this is his fault.

So he lets Dean stew in his anger. When the waitress comes in (a pretty redhead with smooth skin and long legs), Castiel only asks for black coffee and lets her focus solely on Dean without any penalty to her tip. When their drinks come, Castiel only watches Dean twirl the straw wrapper around his fingers and imagines Dean imagining the wrapper being Castiel’s neck. When Dean devours his food, Castiel only sips his coffee until it gets too cold to tolerate. When Dean refuses dessert and asks for the bill, Castiel only looks at the dirty dishes and holds back a sigh. And when Dean blatantly asks the waitress to accompany him to the motel across the street, Castiel stays sitting in the booth and waits the hour until Dean’s return. The waitress sneaks in through the back and finally brings them the bill, and Dean leaves a hefty tip with a wink before standing up, walking out of the diner, and getting into Baby.

Castiel only follows, and for the next three hours, the only scent that exists is the mixture of sickening perfume and sweat. But he doesn’t leave. He’d rather have his coat reek of this scent for weeks to come than leave.


	4. ...a list

Castiel may not be well versed in human interconnection, but he is not delusional; he knows this companionship was in no way healthy nor balanced. Dean lead, Castiel followed and didn’t ask questions. It was tentative but effective, and Castiel was grateful enough to have any association with Dean.

But something shifted after Oklahoma.

Castiel spends the following days practicing his apology, his main reference coming from reruns of a soap opera. _Days of our Lives_ , the theme song has been running through his head ever since the batteries died from the remote to the tv in the motel room in Arkansas. Castiel could have turned the tv off or switched the channels in a blatant misuse of his grace, but one of the characters looked like Dean. Younger and more reckless, but Eric Brady wore Dean’s face well.

It doesn’t help with his apology. The purple prose seemed unnatural coming from Dean, but it was the most accessible reference he had.

Castiel had days to practice what he was going to say. He played out the scene in his head. Castiel would swing the door open and stalk into the room, his coat billowing behind him. He fully intended to grovel, tell Dean that he didn’t mean to sound insincere and he wasn’t sure where the apathy came from. He wanted to pull from his earlier defense, sprinkle in some excuses of exhaustion and temporary misjudgment. He practiced the situation so many times in his head that the _Days of Our Lives_ episode “The Incident in the Diner that Serves the Best Chicken Pot Pie in the County” ends with a close-up of Dean’s red eyes right before he hugs Castiel and promises to never leave his life.

Again, unnatural, but he still tries. He (gently opens) the door and (shuffles) into the room, his coat (pocket getting caught on the doorknob of the motel door). He (grumbles), telling Dean that he didn’t mean to sound insincere and he wasn’t sure where the apathy came from.

That’s all he gets out before Dean interrupts, “You don’t have to be here if you don’t wanna.” Then Dean exits stage right, and before Castiel knows it, the scene has shifted from a motel room to Baby as they maneuver through the backroads of some city in Tennessee.

It disorients him a bit because that’s not how Nicole Walker responds to Eric Brady, and it almost frustrates Castiel, but he recognizes the habit. After all, he’s been watching Dean for a year. He knows every trick the man has in his arsenal on how to maneuver around troubling subjects that require some self-worth on Dean’s part. Besides, he has over 200 episodes of _Days of Our Lives_ hardwired into his mind. He knows what he must say and how he must say it, but it’s difficult considering how manipulative Dean is.

“ _I do want to be here_ ” is somehow twisted into “ _You are my responsibility; therefore, I have to be here_ ”

“ _I do not see you as a ‘responsibility’"_ into “ _You are a burden and the amount of effort I have invested in you is wasted_ ”

“ _You are not a burden and it is a privilege for me to be here_ ” into “ _You are tolerable, and as such, I have decided you are worthy of an iota of my time_ ”

“ _My time is in no way valuable enough to not spend it with you_ ” into “ _My time is worthless and so are you_ ”

“That is not what I am saying, Dean, and perhaps if you were to listen to what I say instead of interrupting every sentence that comes out of my mouth, you will understand how much I appreciate being here with you even if sometimes I may seem like I do not.” Maybe he was too blunt, but Castiel knows he made a misstep. He expects more arguing, yelling, maybe a fist.

He doesn’t expect a kiss at the next red light.

Castiel doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know that he can lean in or wrap his arms around Dean or move his lips against his because Castiel has no experience with this. The closest he came was that woman for hire Dean wanted him to fornicate with, and even then, the furthest they went was his hand on her chest. He’s never experienced what soft lips feels like on his vessel’s or how hot a tongue can feel when forced into his vessel’s mouth or how satisfying it feels when his vessel’s hair gets pulled. Instead, Castiel remains helpless and absorbs every sensation. Dean’s full weight pressing him into the door, Dean’s hands gripping at his trench coat, Dean’s stubble – Castiel just absorbs and doesn’t do anything.

Because Dean’s kiss is a consistent force of urgency and instinct, the sheer intensity enough for Castiel to _understand_ why humans are sometimes so desperate for this connection – it’s intimate, sharing space and lips and breath.

Because the kiss is exactly like how Dean kills, building to the highest point until he knocks it down and burns every poor soul in his path. Castiel understands now, being a poor soul himself, but Heaven did he feel anything but poor in the moment. Instead, all that settles is a dark satisfaction when he realizes Lisa never had this with Dean. No, she had _mundane_.

Because Dean’s kissing Castiel like he’d forgotten how to kiss. Which is ridiculous because Dean had just kissed that blonde waitress in the alley behind the bar last night, but that doesn’t matter because right now, they’re sitting at a red light at an empty intersection in some backwater town in Tennessee and he can feel the moment threatening to leave.

So he makes it impossible for himself to forget. No matter the state line they cross, who’s saying what on the angel radio, or what the monster of the day is, Castiel wants to make sure his mind never strays from how Dean practically jumped over the space between them to press Castiel into the car door, or how the door pressed awkwardly into his back, or how the cold temperature from outside seeped through the window and into his head, or how none of that mattered when Dean finally pressed their lips together.

And as quickly as it happens, it ends. Right before the light turned green, Dean is back at his side of the car, hands gripping the wheel until his knuckles turn white. Castiel makes the mistake of remarking on the tension, and one look from Dean is enough for Castiel to add it to his preexisting list of known facts:

  1. Han shot first.
  2. Burt and Ernie are gay.
  3. Dean Winchester does not like the obvious stated.



“I’m not gay.”

“Okay.”

  1. Dean Winchester is not gay.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In happier news, the chapters only get longer from here


	5. ...Sam

The first sign of Sam Winchester’s return comes from a surprising source. Crowley has been largely out of Castiel’s mind since the moment Dean prayed to him, with only a few intrusive thoughts and a couple of comments from some demons reminding Castiel that Crowley is still interested in the deal. Still, he never regarded Crowley as a threat to the fragile truce between Castiel and Dean, and he certainly never expected Crowley to use Sam Winchester’s soul as a bargaining chip – if he even has it, which is what has Dean currently pacing in their motel room for the week.

“And you haven’t heard anything on Angel radio?”

“I have not been listening.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because if I turn it on, I’ll only hear my brothers and sisters die as a result of the civil war currently in Heaven.” Dean stops pacing and finally looks at Castiel, truly and genuinely looks at him, and it leaves a hard weight on his chest.

Everything’s been different since the ending of “The Incident in the Diner that Serves the Best Chicken Pot Pie in the County” and the only way Castiel can describe their new dynamic is _wrong_ – and it’s because of the kiss. And Castiel knows why.

Castiel knows all about John Winchester.

He knows about the dirty motel rooms and the lack of resources and the sometimes three-week-long hunts where Dean wouldn’t know if John would ever come back and the expectations Dean had to uphold and the consequences when those expectations weren’t met. He knows how it only took a prepubescent Dean looking too long at a male model on a cooking magazine for John to ban him from any hunts for a month because he didn’t want some “sissy queer” watching his back. He knows that Dean still dreams of every time he let his father down.

The thing is, Castiel knows all of this, but it still isn’t enough for him pretend the kiss did not happen. Because while the kiss may be just another disappointment for Dean (and John) Winchester, Castiel has made up his mind on the matter. It’s as he said before: he’s either self-obsessed or a martyr, and right now, he chooses to be _selfish_. The kiss was six weeks ago, and while nothing has _overtly_ changed between them, Castiel won’t let Dean (and John) ruin this for him. Not when something _can_ change.

He just never expected the change to come from Crowley of all beings.

Dean finally looks away from Castiel’s stare, choosing to look up at the ceiling. “So whaddya think about it?”

Yes, what does Castiel think about Crowley offering to retrieve Sam’s soul from the cage as a token of good faith? Dean’s finally asking for his input again instead of commanding, but Castiel is too tired to even try to pretend this is enough to please him anymore. “I don’t know what to say.”

His reaction is better than Castiel hoped for. “What do you mean you don’t know what to say?” Dean’s still looking up, but now the veins on his neck are more prominent. It’s beautiful, and if Castiel could, he’d sculpt Dean’s neck from marble. But he doesn’t know how to sculpt and he thinks Dean would be less than impressed if he were to disappear right now to get marble.

“I mean I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Fuck, man, just…” Dean sighs, “just tell me the truth.” His voice is still hard, but oddly enough, the veins on his neck disappear. Dean doesn’t look angry anymore; instead, he looks resigned. Tired above all else, and Castiel doesn’t know who, between them two, is more tired of the other.

Still, Castiel made his decision. He’s staying. Dean’s not an enemy; Dean’s a friend. Things _can_ change.

It’s not difficult, recounting his complex history with Crowley. The events slip easily past his lips, almost mechanically, and aside from a few knots in his throat that come and go, Castiel is able to describe what occurred the last few months within twenty minutes. He speaks of the ruin Heaven is in after the aborted apocalypse. With two archangels gone, the duty fell on Raphael to lead – except Raphael was no solution; Raphael was the same as Michael, and after years of fighting for more for his brothers and sisters, Castiel refused to fall into the same patterns. He thought about what his Father would do, but then he remembered God chose to abandon them, so he did the opposite. Castiel argued for free will, for humanity. He made promises of choices and emotions and benevolence, and his siblings listened.

He just didn’t know how to deliver on those promises, not when it meant declaring a war on Raphael and half of Heaven. Until Crowley, who came with his own promises of souls and power and peace. And somehow, Castiel heard this, had the solution presented to him in the form of a red apple, and he can’t take the bite. The apple is still there, promising a new Eden, and Castiel walked away from it for a man who can’t see anything other than a bottle of beer and his baby brother.

“I didn’t see any other solution,” Castiel finishes. He’s leaning against the motel door, fiddling with the window blinds to his left. The motel parking lot gives him something to latch onto, to keep his eyes on something besides the growing disappointment in Dean’s eyes.

The parking lot does nothing for his ears, especially when Dean sighs and mumbles, “You could’ve asked me.”

Castiel’s jaw clenches. “No, I couldn’t have Dean.”

“Yeah, you could’ve.” Father Almighty, Dean Winchester never knows when to give up. It’s endearing just as it is infuriating. “If you need something from me, you ask me.”

And that’s when Castiel knows – he’s _exhausted_ of Dean.

“As if you will follow your own advice.” The words snap out in a bitterness that is not appropriate for an Angel of the Lord, but Castiel can hardly consider himself as that anymore, not after choosing to turn his back on his brothers and sisters. Then again, God himself is still absent. Maybe it is just another trait he received from his father.

Maybe Crowley was right when he said Castiel would make a fine God.

“You don’t think I will?”

“I know you won’t, Dean, and that is fine. I’ve learned to manage my expectations with you.” It’s almost as if Castiel has no filter. Not even Eric Brady’s flowered speeches sway his words.

It stuns Dean, only for a moment but it’s enough for Castiel to _exist_ for a moment – feel the breaths his vessel takes, its heartbeat underneath his fingernails. He feels more settled when Dean asks, “The hell’s that s’pose to mean?”

Settled enough to answer truthfully, “It means I don’t expect anything from you anymore because my expectations are never met. Either I’m disappointed or you exceed them, and it has become exhausting to wonder which outcome you’ll give me.”

“Well sorry for that.”

“Stop.” Settled enough to argue his point. “You’re focusing on the negatives of that statement-“

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to focus on?”

“Nothing because the issue isn’t yours. It’s mine.” And it suddenly makes sense, how Castiel nearly idolized the Righteous Man, seeing the rake in his hand as a Moses’s Rod, only to discover that he’s merely cleaning his yard. He’s running through the motions and keeps his worries confined in the white picket fence of his world. It’s still enough for Castiel, more than enough, but that’s no fault on Dean. No matter how impressive or devastating Dean is, he is still limited, and Castiel cannot stop himself from making those limitations his religion.

“You are not the answer to my problems, even if I hoped you would be.” The words rip out of his mouth, leaving his throat raw and his heart heavy. It’s nothing compared to how Dean looks.

Castiel has seen Dean at his worst. When the Devil is crashing to Earth and the Angels are ripping stomachs and the world is crumbling apart into a mess of broken bones and fallen brothers, Dean’s bravado is the only constant. A roguish soul with a brilliant mind wrapped in flannel. Only tonight, Dean wears his fear on his skin, and Castiel is reminded how scared Dean truly is of failure. Failure means abandonment; failure means disruption to the routine he has worked so hard to establish, and tonight, Castiel has thrown things off-balance, leaving Dean afraid and almost child-like. And if he has to choose one response to this, Castiel chooses to sympathize. So he stops the conversation and move them back to what Dean’s familiar: a hunt.

“As for your brother, I’ll have to speak with a few angels. There’s a reason why Crowley brought up Sam, and it could be just a diversion set to interfere with the current war. I’m not sure which side Crowley is on, and I would never forgive myself if I inadvertently ruined Heaven any more than I already have.”

And for the first time in five months, Castiel blinks out of existence and leaves Dean alone in the motel room.


	6. ...a name

A week passes with Castiel pulling delicate strings before the first phone call comes in, one that has Dean clambering out of the diner and answering outside. Dean doesn’t tell him, doesn’t have to. Castiel knows just by his body language, and it _hurts_ , settles deeply into his bones and aches as Dean slowly trudges back into the booth and continues eating. He wants to pretend nothing has changed, as if Dean doesn’t have his own responsibility he’s ignoring, but Castiel finds himself unforgiving these days.

“How’s Lisa?” Castiel asks, his voice keeping a carefully considerate tone. He knows that Lisa’s been crying every night since Dean left and that Ben’s acting out in school since another father figure has abandoned him and that the yard remains unkempt in his absence, and it’s paralyzing when he finds himself uncaring. If only his brothers and sisters can see just how much Dean Winchester has polluted him.

Dean grumbles into his bacon and eggs, takes a swig of his lukewarm coffee, and keeps his mind 563 miles away from the diner they reside in Virginia. There’s another long drive, a silent one with Baby’s radio and Angel radio tuned off. A few hours later finds them in another motel room, one significantly closer to Cicero, Indiana. Whether it was a conscious action on Dean’s part is debatable, but Castiel knows what he must do.

“You can go if you wish to. I will stay here and try to find Sam’s soul.”

“I’m not-”

“If she makes you happy, stay with her. If you don’t come back, I understand. I will still find Sam and free him.” The words are holy fire coming out of his throat, but it does nothing to diminish the sincerity behind every word. Castiel made his decision, and it’s time for Dean to make his.

He tries to pretend it’s an easy affair. Dean hasn’t even unpacked his duffle bag when Castiel grabs it from the bed and places it in the Impala. He only nods when Dean promises to return in a few days because he knows his voice will give him away. With no more words, the door closes, and Castiel is left in his agony.

The first night passes in trembles. Castiel doesn’t feel temperature, but his vessel feels cold. He takes off his trench coat, then his blazer, then his long sleeve when the sweating starts. He’s still shivering so he slips under the covers. The rough fabric catches on his vessel’s body hair, but the sharp pain is welcomed. For six hours, that’s how Castiel chooses to exist: shaking and sweating and sanguine.

That’s all the humanity Castiel allows himself. When the sun rises, Castiel sits on the motel table and listens. He doesn’t go to Heaven; he still can’t face the carnage, but there are a few sisters who sympathize with Castiel’s position. He relies on them to cover that side of the problem while he keeps his feet on the ground. The issue arises when Castiel needs to leave the room to speak to certain people, and while he won’t try to take too much time, he knows Dean can arrive, see the empty room, and leave without a second thought. To prevent that, Castiel leaves his trench coat on the bed just so Dean knows he’s coming back.

He decides he needs to speak with Bobby Singer. Castiel leaves and comes back seven minutes later to an empty room. His sister Hannah tells him of a demon with tenuous ties to the Cage, and Castiel follows his only lead until its dead end. He leaves the motel for two days and comes back to an undisturbed room.

It’s agonizing, he realizes, not knowing. He remains caged to a motel room he was abandoned at in the slight chance of being rescued, and he only leaves his cage to please his absconder. And he knows he can stop by Lisa’s house and find out, hide himself again and see if Dean decided raking leaves is better than Castiel’s company, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

Not knowing is _agonizing_ , but _knowing_? It’s a cage in hell.

Castiel had been holding out for a change, and when he stepped away from making Dean take responsibility for the kiss, he thought that was it. He placed the responsibility on Dean because Castiel didn’t have a capability to make that decision for the both of them, not when his record shows his unreliability.

He didn’t expect Lisa to make the decision for them. And Castiel understands. He knows Dean has a responsibility to them. Lisa and Ben accepted them to their family, and if there’s one thing Dean refuses to be, it’s his father. He may have inherited many of John’s qualities, none positive, but it’s how Dean chooses to react that draws a great line between biology and legacy. Dean won’t abandon his family, and after four days of molting in a motel, Castiel knows Dean doesn’t consider him as such. Castiel is a good ally, and that is all he will be.

It hurts but it’s sobering. It’s also infuriating that the very soul that coaxed Castiel to rebel is the one who causes him to conform, but Castiel accepts it. The _few days_ Dean promised turns to a week, and Castiel removes himself from Dean’s life with as much grace he can manage.

It becomes easier to leave the motel after that. He even manages a meeting with Crowley without Dean and gets useful information. Not all is given, but Crowley allows Castiel the technicalities. Sam Winchester’s soul is trapped with Lucifer and Michael ( _“And what a grand time they seem to be having. Makes me a bit jealous, truly.”_ ), but his body is still roaming Earth. With no soul, Sam relies on what he already knows: hunts, alcohol, and sex. Castiel cannot find him, not without a soul, and Sam won’t pray any time soon, but Crowley knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a demon who knows a guy who knows who Sam is hunting with ever since Dean played doting not-husband.

And he’ll only give the name if Castiel accepts his role as the new God who will allow Crowley some “wiggle-room.”

Castiel leaves after that, not to the hotel room but to a nearby lake. It’s undisturbed, one that tourism hasn’t sunk its teeth into yet, and Castiel truly appreciates the isolation. It’s the only obtainable comfort. He spends a few hours at the tree line circling the lake, sitting on a collapsed log and watching the morning sunlight break through the branches, before popping back to the motel room. It’s undisturbed, just like Castiel anticipated, but the disappointment still aches. His Father is gone, his brothers and sisters are divided, and Dean won’t return. He truly is alone.

Castiel barely registers the sound of a key in the doorknob before the door swings opens. In walks Dean, dressed in the same clothes he left in. It’s been ten days; of course, Dean has showered and changed during that time frame, but it’s the tainted part of Castiel (the human part) that can’t see past the symbolism.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out. Dean only gives a questioning hum in response, keeping his eyes on his phone. “You’re back?”

Dean looks up. “Yeah?” Castiel catches a glimpse of wary eyes before Dean turns to the duffle in his hand. “You don’t want me here or something?” Dean says with a nonchalance that Castiel scrambles for an excuse.

“That is not it. I just…” he trails off, the words lost when the duffle lands with a heavy _thud_ on the floor, obviously much heavier than it was when he left. “Welcome back.”

Dean sighs and takes a moment, body still and breath steady. Castiel takes the chance to take in the newfound softness in Dean’s features. He looks considerably younger, almost childish, almost Eric Brady. But there’s still the confidence, the broad shoulders and steady stance and hardened eyes that shows Castiel there is no real difference.

“How ‘bout we leave?” Dean asks, eyes looking at the crumpled bed sheets Castiel never had the motivation to fix. He feels slightly embarrassed, almost like a child who was caught doing something they shouldn’t do, but then Dean looks at him again, and somehow, Castiel knows he did nothing wrong.

“You need to rest, Dean,” Castiel tries, but Dean shakes his head.

“M’hungry.” Oh, that changes things. “Let’s go get some food and we’ll hunker down in another town.”

“Very well.”

Despite Dean claiming he’s hungry, he drives until the sun reflects too brightly on the dusty road. Castiel points out a few diners on the road, but Dean doesn’t respond, so Castiel doesn’t push. Instead, he looks at Baby. She’s still exactly the same, except for the suitcase in the backseat. It’s a small, black, simple thing, but it commands all of Castiel’s attention. Castiel doesn’t know if it’s because of how devoted he is to Dean, but he wonders if the suitcase is a peace offering. Dean would choose it over a conversation; he prefers to speak through actions, not words, and the suitcase is right there, begging Castiel to read in between the lines. He doesn’t. He just keeps his eyes on the road and refuses to make the suitcase any bigger than it is. He won’t let his hope rise in this car again.

They exit the highway and drive into a border town of Virginia. A roadhouse stands behind the city sign, one that seems empty enough for Dean to pull into. They walk in, take a seat at a corner booth behind the bar, and order soon enough. Dean, a burger and beer; Castiel, a water. He doesn’t drink, but it’s nice holding something cold, and watching the drops race down the glass helps him ignore Dean’s gaze.

The burger is gone quicker than it arrives, and before he knows it, they’re on the road again. This time, it’s to drive a few blocks down to a B&B. Multiple rooms are available, but Dean only asks for one, and when the innkeeper asks how many beds, Dean only raises one finger. Castiel still says nothing, only glared at the innkeeper when he was going to make a comment about the arrangements for two men. The innkeeper says nothing, but he makes sure to give Dean the key with a flower keychain. He does his best to avoid touching Dean’s hand. That’s one of the things Castiel hates the most about Earth: there are many John Winchesters lurking.

They climb three flights to the room. Walking in, Castiel is welcomed by hand-carved furniture, dark wooden floors, colorful drapes and wallpapers. The full bed is flushed against the wall, adjacent to the window. A chair is pressed against the opposite wall next to a neat round table. The room is smaller than what Castiel is used to, but he likes it better. There’s no place for anything to hide.

The heavy creaks the bed makes when Dean throws the duffle bag on it is immensely satisfying, but Castiel only gives himself a second to savor that satisfaction. There are other pressing matters to attend to.

Dean’s standing the middle of the room, looking straight ahead where a small television is mounted on the wall. He seems fine, nonchalant even, but a tension hides, one that has never really left now that Castiel thinks about it. Still, Dean’s trying extremely hard to hide how on-edge he is, and Dean would’ve succeeded if Castiel wasn’t so well-acquainted with the infamous Winchester apathy.

Castiel counts a few of his vessel’s heartbeats. “I will tell you what I’ve learned about Sam after you sleep.”

Dean raises an eyebrow but still doesn’t look at Castiel. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“The curtains are heavy enough to block the sun,” Castiel answers immediately. The curtains are antique, one that the innkeeper found in the storage unit his grandmother, Agatha, left him in her will. Aggie was particularly fond of them because of how well they blocked the morning sunlight, but she had to pack them away when she married. The floral pattern was too feminine for her husband’s taste, and when Gus discovered Aggie had placed them in the spare bedroom instead of stowing them away in the attic, he made sure to beat her with the curtain rod until she received the message. Now in Heaven, Aggie wakes to those curtains bellowing in the breeze with her true love Dorothea singing in the bathroom; Gus gets choked with that curtain rod every hour in Hell.

Castiel turns his thoughts from Aggie when Dean sighs. He pushes the duffle to the foot of the bed before sitting down. He takes his time unlacing his ( _muddy, most likely from trudging in Lisa’s yard_ ) boots, places them under the bed, and slides under the sheets. Also floral. Castiel has half a mind to smite the innkeeper. It’s a mystery why he was Aggie’s favorite grandchild.

Dean turns on his side and faces the uncovered window. “Wake me in four hours.”

“I won’t.”

Dean snorts. “Okay.” And that’s it. It’s a little anticlimactic, but Castiel counts it as a win.

Instead of trying his luck, Castiel moves to the chair and sits. A small pillow is laid on the seat, one Aggie favored when she was pregnant with her second child. It’s pink and frilly but soft and practical. He rests his arm on the table, his elbow resting right next to the small vase. It’s the one Dorothea worked on in her ceramics group. She gave it to Aggie as a house-warming present. _I hope your husband is up to the job of keeping it filled_ , Dorothea joked and when she found out Gus wasn’t, she picked up gardening. Every week, a new arrangement found its way into the vase, but Aggie always favored blue hydrangeas.

They’re the arrangement in the vase and throughout the inn. Whether it was a conscious action on the innkeeper’s part is debatable, but the handling certainly is. The flowers are well-watered, well-fed, and well-taken-care-of. They’ve lasted longer than their usual vase life, and it is only now at two weeks that they’ve begun wilting. They’re due for a replacement.

As Castiel takes in their withering appearance, a commotion outside tempts his eyes from the flowers and to the window. A van is pulling in, a white one with the name and logo of a flower shop in a nearby town printed on the side. A man gets off and opens the back doors. He’s tall, olive-complected, dark hair. His bright yellow gloves reach into the van and take out multiple arrangements of white Calla Lilies. The innkeeper greets him and grabs a few arrangements as they bring them in. The van closes with a hard slam, one that wakes Dean, but Castiel keeps his attention on the two men outside. They speak for a few minutes before the florist laughs, places a hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder, and gets in the van. The innkeeper quickly turns away and walks in as the van drives off.

Castiel can see his blush from three stories up.

Dean stretches, pressing his body into the mattress.

“Only two hours have passed. Go back to sleep,” Castiel says quietly. Dean seems to listen, burying himself into the bedsheets.

“You wanna know why I didn’t stay with her?” Dean mumbles into the pillow, muffled enough that any person would have an issue understanding. Castiel’s ears latch onto every syllable.

“If you want to tell me.” It’s silent, the only sounds coming from the innkeeper’s footsteps as he replaces the flowers. He’ll leave this room for last or until he sees Dean and Castiel leave.

Dean shifts until he’s staring at the ceiling. “You told me to go if that made me happy. She told me to stay cause she can make me happy.” Dean’s gripping the sheets, and Castiel finds himself unconsciously mirroring the action with his slacks. “I dunno, but something about the way she said… i-it wasn’t the same when you said it.”

_So… does that mean?_

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

_Oh... Cas. That’s right._

“Thank you, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see your "there-was-only-one-hotel-room" + "there-was-only-one-bed" trope and raise you "there-are-multiple-rooms-with-multiple-beds-but-you-still-chose-a-single-room-for-us" trope


End file.
